


On a silver platter

by Aisjustrunning



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisjustrunning/pseuds/Aisjustrunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack walks into a restaurant and immediately thinks that he has made a mistake. It may be his lucky day, though, because he lands a date with a cute blond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a silver platter

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post.](http://caprxgers.tumblr.com/post/124356820718/some-oddly-specific-aus-that-no-one-asked-for) “i walked into this restaurant and you thought i was your blind date and i just kind of went with it because i don’t want to eat alone” au.  
> Thanks [Gemma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelowo93/pseuds/gelowo93) for the beta (all those sentences that only sounded good in Spanish...) and [Dynah](spoopysouffles.tumblr.com) for coming up with the name fot the rink. It fits really well.  
> I do not own Check, Please!, of course.

Jack walks into the restaurant and immediately thinks that he has made a mistake. This place looks… romantic. Low lighting, candles on the tables—most of which are occupied by couples— and there’s even low piano music playing.

 _Tabarnak_. He just wanted a quiet place to eat after a home loss without being recognized. He should have checked the place before entering. _Why don’t you ever think things through? Why do you keep making stupid mistakes like this?_ It’s a small thing, some part of him knows it doesn’t matter, but at the same time he feels like this just adds to the rest of mistakes he made this afternoon. Always passing a second too late, missing the puck… not being fast enough, nor good enough, and now not thinking before deciding where to eat.

He thinks about just turning around and leaving before anyone notices him. But a waiter in a fancy suit is approaching him and he knows it’s too late.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the waiter asks.

Jack feels a nervous energy building in him, adding to the anxiety created by the loss this afternoon. He desperately wants to leave; the last thing he needs is to spend an hour sitting by himself on a table with candles on it, surrounded by happy couples. He should have gone home and ordered take-away.

The waiter is looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“I…” he starts, not sure of what he should say. Maybe if he says no they won’t let him sit and he will be able to leave without embarrassing himself.

He doesn’t get a chance to speak. The moment he opens his mouth a short blond appears near the waiter.

“Mhm. Hi. Sorry. I think he’s with me?” He says, a bit uncertain, but eager, as if hoping what he says is true, rather than believing it.

Jack is about to deny being there with anyone when he looks the blond in the face. He looks good. Well dressed, as if for a formal date, bowtie and everything. All big brown eyes. Short compared to Jack. He’s… really cute.

Jack considers his options. There’s no way he can make an escape now without being rude to the waiter, and who knows if he has been recognized: tomorrow the Internet could be speaking about how little respect Jack Zimmermann has for the waiting staff of the city of Providence, on top of how little he’s doing to help the Falconers win games.

He could always say the small blond is wrong and go have dinner on his own. Or he could… go along with the guy.

He looks up to the boy’s face and now he looks shy, worried facing Jack’s silence.

Jack makes his choice.

“Yes, I think he’s right.” He gives the blond a small smile.

“I’ll take you to your table.”

The waiter leads them to a table for two and leaves. They stand awkwardly by the table.Jack starts fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt.

“I’m Eric. I’m not sure Johnson told you that. Michael, isn’t it?”

Jack looks up to see the guy offering his hand. Jack shakes it. The boy’s hand is warm, but not sweaty. Jack lets his touch linger as long as possible without making it weird.

“Uhm, well…” This would be the perfect moment to explain that he was not supposed to meet with anyone here and that he’s not called Michael, but if he does, he’ll have to have dinner on his own after all. And the blond is _really_ cute. He could do with a few hours of not having to be himself, and being a random guy named Michael who has a date with cute big-eyed blond sounds good. “Yes. Michael. Mike is fine.”

“Mike, right.”

They sit at opposite sides of the table and Jack all but hides behind his menu without actually reading the dishes’ names. _Please, don’t let Eric know too much about that Mike, please._

“I don’t want to be rude or anything, but… why were you late? I was about to leave when I saw you…

 _Think something, quick_. “I was at work.” _Well done, Zimmermann_. “Sorry I didn’t call.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you made it here.” There’s a short pause. “And what do you do? Johnson only told me you were a friend of a friend. Nothing else. I have nothing about your hobbies, your job, nothing! And I didn’t know you were Canadian. Well, you sound Canadian. Are you Canadian? He said you were tall, with dark hair… he said dark eyes, but I guess he didn’t remember properly. And I’m not complaining.” Eric stops blathering and blushes, turning a nice shade of pink. “Sorry for babbling. I’m a bit nervous.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice.” Eric blushes even more. _Seriously, this guy is adorable. Where is that Mike who was supposed to be here? Wherever he is, he’s an idiot, and he’s missing out._ “Your questions: I’m Canadian, from Montreal. I’m here for work. And I work as a… sports journalist. Yeah. For the _Providence Journal_.”

Thank God, and thank Johnson, whoever he is, for his refusal to give information.

The waiter comes back and Jack realizes he hasn’t even read the menu. His scans it quickly and choses something that seems ok with his nutrition plan.

“I’ll have _les aiguillettes de canard à la à la façon de la maison_ , please. And a bottle of water for the table, please. With ice. Eric?”

Eric looks at him in awe, but quickly snaps out of it and stumbles through his order. His French when he says the dish sounds ok, though.

“Mmm… the _filets de truite_ , please, and… a glass of white wine. You sure you don’t want wine, Mike?”

“No, don’t worry. Water for me is fine.”

“Do you speak French?” Jack asks, once the waiter is gone.

“Not really, just a bit. I’m taking a French course in college, but I can only introduce myself and order a coffee or something. I got the pronunciation mastered because of, well, French YouTube vlogs.”

“Well, if you ever want to practice, I’d be more than glad to help you.” God, he almost feels tempted to _wink_. Pretending to be somebody else is giving him a confidence he usually wouldn’t have. He feels relaxed, good, like he hasn’t felt in a long time. He almost forgets the clusterfuck that the game was.

Eric is blushing again. How it’s humanly possible to blush so much, Jack doesn’t know, but he likes it.

“You’re in college then. Which one? Brown? PU?” he asks Eric.

“Neither. Johnson and Wales. I’m getting a Bachelors on Baking and Pastry. I want to be a baker.”

“And what are you doing so far from home? Aren’t there any good baking courses down South?” Jack asks. “Sorry, your accent gave you away,” he adds when Eric stares at him in shock.

“Oh, well, I guess I can’t hide it.” He smiles. “There are some good courses, but back home… things are not exactly easy. I’m not out to my family, and people in the South are not the most open-minded in the country…

Jack can understand that. He isn’t exactly out either. His parents know, his team knows. He realizes now that having dinner in a romantic setting with a guy is probably not the best idea he has ever had, but if the story makes it to the sport media, he can deny any romantic involvement with Eric, and he wouldn’t be lying.

“… so when I was 16 I started doing some research on colleges and baking courses and found Johnson and Wales. The program was great, and I really wanted to leave home and go somewhere I could myself, even if I do miss my family… and the warmth!” Eric continues. “I started working hard to try and get a scholarship and save money. I even quit figure skating to find a job.”

“You were a figure skater?” Jack asks. He’s never tried it but he loves the ice, of course he finds figure skating beautiful. He can picture Eric in leotards, spinning and jumping on the ice. It’s a nice image. He suddenly feels hot all over.

“Yes, I even competed. But then we moved, and I wanted to save money for college, so finding a job seemed more important. There are not ice skating scholarships in JWU. I miss it, though. I always try getting some ice time in a rink near my house, but it’s hard.”

Jack is about to offer ice time at Starbucks Center, he’s sure he could make some arrangements, when he remembers he’s not Jack Zimmermann, Falconers’ most recently signed forward, but Michael something, dark-eyed asshole who doesn’t show up to blind dates.

Thankfully, the waiter chooses that moment to come back with their food and Jack gets an excuse to stay quiet while he starts cutting the duck. Eric does the same, removing the scales of his trout. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Jack breaks the silence.

“Why are you being set up with Mi… me?” He asks, curious now.

“I don’t know. My friend Johnson was pretty insistent on me trying to meet somebody. I have to admit I have been feeling a bit lonely lately, so when he started going about this great gay guy he had met, how we were perfect for each other… I just went with it. You?”

“Same,” he lies. It’s becoming easier and easier to lie, and he should feel bad, but this is too nice. He remembers he’s supposed to know Johnson. “Johnson just went on about this friend of his when we met at… ehm… a party, and I thought, “why not, eh”?”

They keep on talking animatedly all through dinner. They talk about hobbies (Eric likes baking, Jack likes sports and history), favorite foods (Eric should eat more protein…), music (Jack has no idea who are all those people Eric mentions, but Eric’s face when Jack says he likes country is priceless) … and Jack lies the bare minimum not to get caught, giving more information about him than he has given anyone in a long time.

By the time they’re ready to leave, Jack also know more about Eric than he does about some of his teammates.

Jack insists on paying for both of them.

“I was late. Let me repay you” he says, when Eric complains that he can pay for his own food. “You can pay for the next date, eh?”

The thing is, Jack really hopes there’s a next date. Eric is fun, cute, talks about baking with an intensity he has only heard in other hockey players when talking about the game, and he seems to like Jack.

The only problem is the fact that he thinks Jack is somebody else.

“I live near here, so I’m going to walk home. Can you give me your number? For that date in which I’ll pay for the food?” Eric asks when they are outside standing by the door, neither willing to say goodbye. Eric seems a bit shy again, but his smile is big and reaches his eyes.

“Sure.” Jack gives him the number and pauses. He makes a decision right there. “May I walk you home, Eric?”

“Oh. Sure, as you wish,” Eric answers.

They walk mostly in silence, enjoying the quiet. Despite it being late in the year, Eric isn’t wearing a jacket. He shivers faintly, and Jack offers him his own jacket.

“Oh goodness, I can’t take it. It’s just a short walk, don’t worry,” Eric says.

“No, really, take it. I’m Canadian, this feels like summer to me,” he grins, and he knows he’s won when Eric nods. Jack takes off his jacket and places it on Eric’s shoulders. Eric stops shivering, wrapped up in Jack’s warm jacket.

Silence falls again between them until Eric stops by a building.

“This is me,” Eric says, starting to take off Jack’s jacket.

 _Now or never_ , Jack thinks. He raises his hand to stop Eric from taking off his jacket.

“Eric, I have something to tell you,” he starts.

Eric frowned slightly. “… ok.”

“I… I’m not Mike and I’m not a sports journalist. I’m Jack Zimmermann, I play for the Falconers. I didn’t want to eat alone, and you looked so hopeful that I was your date. You were so _cute_ … so I went along with it. I’m sorry. Everything else is true, I promise.”

Eric looks down, confused. “I… I don’t really know what to say.” Jack wants desperately for him to say something, anything. “I guess… I don’t care? After all, if you’re not Mike, Mike is just some dick who bailed on me. And I had fun, I really did. I would like to go on another date with you.”

Jack sighs, relieved.

“Good. Text me. Whenever. I have games and practice, but we can schedule something on a day we’re both free. I can even get you ice time at the Starbucks Center, too, if you want. To skate a bit?”

Eric smiles broadly and Jack is a bit distracted looking at how cute he looks. He snaps out of it when Eric stands on tiptoes and kisses him. The kiss is sweet, Eric’s lips soft on his, moving slowly, shyly.

This isn’t a good idea, kissing in the middle of the street, even if it’s late and there’s no one around. He can’t find it in himself to care too much, though, especially when Eric gets bold and prods at Jack’s lips with his tongue. Jack opens his mouth to let him in, reveling in Eric’s body against his, his warmth, his tongue exploring Jack’s mouth. Eric tastes like the chocolate mousse he had for dessert and Jack _loves_ it. He runs a hand through Eric’s soft hair.

“We should… we should stop.” It pains Jack to break the kiss, to say the words, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. However, he can’t help himself and adds, “Or take it somewhere else.”

Eric looks up at him. He looks good: cheeks pink from the cold night air, the wine, and the kissing. His lips red, and eyes shiny.

“Yeah… ok,” he says. “Mhm… maybe some other day you can come up? I’d love to go on another date with you, Jack Zimmermann. Text me?”

“I’d love to text you… but you never gave me your number.” Jack realizes, remembering he had given Eric his number, but never got to save Eric’s, too worried about whether to tell him the truth or not.

Eric laughs while he recites his number.

“I’ll have to change your name on my phone now, fake-Mike,” Eric says, grinning.

“Please, do.” Jack says with a smile.

They stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do now that they are’nt kissing. Eric fishes his key from his pocket and opens the door a few inches, pushing it with his back, since he’s still turned towards Jack. Jack has to kiss him again.

This time it’s shorter, more chaste, just a good-night kiss, and Jack breaks it after a few seconds.

“Go to sleep, Eric.”

“Ok. Good night, Jack.”

“Good night.”

Jack stands there until Eric is inside the building. He hasn’t gone far when he receives a text.

_You forgot your jacket, Jack Zimmermann. Come pick it up?_

He doesn’t even think it twice. He makes a U-turn and runs back to Eric’s house.

\-----

John Johnson chuckled to himself while hitting the kudos button in AO3. This was cute, he had done a good job with his meddling. Giving Bitty a fake name and some wrong information had been a nice touch, if he said so himself. It added some chance for comic relief and gave credibility to the story, even if he never actually set Bitty up with anyone, he just wanted to give Jack a chance at meeting him.

Being a self-aware fanfiction version of a self-aware comic character could be fun, and he made the most of it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about hockey and boy kissing on [tumblr](http://ilovetextingandscones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
